


shine as bright as you can

by thecomputerguy



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Broken Bones, Child Abuse, Depression, FULL LIST OF TRIGGERS IN NOTES, Growing Up, Happy Ending, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, and also a mood low key, everyones sad, people Sighing (tm), pls stay safe, the voice in dowoons head is a Bastard (tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-10-30 19:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17835107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecomputerguy/pseuds/thecomputerguy
Summary: yoon dowoon is trying his best.but sometimes your best isn't even good enough.





	1. earth's mightiest sigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! back at it again with a chaptered work this time! here are the triggers i kept track of while writing, please please please(!!) comment bellow if i missed something!  
> Triggers: Suicidal thoughts, mentions of self harm, (kind of) self harm, talk about suicide, mentioned homophobia, internalized homophobia, suicidal actions, implied/referenced abusive parents, implied child abuse, verbal abuse, panic attacks, physical abuse, physical child abuse (and not just mentioned)  
> like usual, most of the thoughts and/or actions are based on my own experiences and these kind of things differ for everyone, so that being said, lets go!

Dowoon sighed. He was tired, to say the least. Exhausted was still to tame a word to cover how he was feeling, yet he didn’t have it in him to look for another one. He found it almost funny. He was so over exhausted he couldn’t even find the proper word for how he felt.

 

Not like he needed to. Not like anyone cared.

 

Dowoon scribbled away in his notebook, diligently doing his calculus homework. He liked calculus. The numbers made sense and everything clicked - unlike his precalculus class (or his life but he stamped down those thoughts before they could fully brew). Now that was a new form of hell.

 

He sighed again, looking at the weird numbers from his equations. He definitely hadn’t done anything wrong in the derivative, so this problem just wasn’t user friendly. He rolled his eyes at his textbook before going back to work, upping the volume on his headphones. He didn’t really care to hear who got laid last week, or who was cheating on their girlfriend (again). He just wanted peace, not like he could ever find it.

 

He only looked up when he felt someone gently tap his shoulder. Pushing his headphones off one ear, he looked up at the girl smiling at him. In another world he may have thought that the soft faced girl was pretty, but Dowoon was _broken_ , Dowoon was _deformed_ (at least that’s what his father said, what his father yelled, almost like a broken record), so instead he simply raised an eyebrow at her, prompting her to begin to speak.

 

“Hey, Dowoon, right? I’m Jisoo, I’m in your grade.” He forced a soft smile, nodding at her, yet refusing to speak. Why bother? It’s not like she would try to talk to him the next day. “I just wanted to let you know the bell rang. It’s H period right now, just in case you have class. If not, then I’m sorry to bother you.” She smiled and waved, wandering off to her next period. He sighed once more (he seemed to be doing that a lot these days) and gathered his books, meandering his way to the art room.

 

He was almost in the safety of the classroom when he crashed into a smiley upperclassman, the elder immediately apologizing tirelessly. He would’ve told the other not to bother, that his aimless apologies did nothing but tire the younger out, except somehow Dowoon managed to land _wrong_ . (His father’s words repeated like a mantra, _You do everything wrong, you were even_ made _wrong_ spinning in his soupy brain.) The words _useless klutz_ flashed through his mind as he gingerly held his left hand, the throbbing tracing up his elbow from every single jostle he received. Looking down at the offended limb, his heart sank upon sight of his swollen and discolored fingers.

 

Dowoon was ready to cry in the middle of that God forsaken hallway.

 

“I’msosorryletmehelpyouup - _ohmygodyourhand_ ,” a rushed voice said, Dowoon assumed it to be whatever upperclassman that had trampled him, crouching in front of him and looking at the rapidly swelling appendages.

 

“Jinyoung,” the boy hissed, “get the nurse, _now_ , and Jackson stop people from running into him. I think I broke his hand, _ohmygod_.” Dowoon wondered if it was rude to tell the boy to shut up. He wished it wasn’t.

 

 _Broken hand_ flooded into his mind, the boy’s voice echoing through his empty skull and reverberating until he felt the vibrations in his toes, the thought of his drumbox sitting neatly in the corner of his room almost knocking the breath out of his lungs. Broken hands, broken fingers, meant no drumbox. It meant no rhythm, it meant _quiet_ in the Hell that was his home, it meant zero distractions from his thoughts.

 

Dowoon was ready to die in the middle of that God forsaken hallway.

 

>>>

 

The nurse came and escorted him to her office, little hesitance though he was ready to pass out.  Whether it be from the swirling cyclone of thoughts pressing against his skull or the pain he was in he didn’t know. All he knew was he wanted it all to _stop_.

 

The nurse sighed (Dowoon was surprised that it was someone else sighing for once) as she approached him, looking at him sadly.

 

“Your hand looks bad, Mr. Yoon. I suspect broken knuckles in the _least_ , due to the swelling, the discoloration, and your presumed pain levels. I called your parents, but they didn’t answer. Do you have anyone else I can call?” He shrugged with his good shoulder, careful not to aggravate his hand anymore than it already was.

 

“My sister is away for college, so no,” he said simply, the nurse giving him a look of pity.

 

“I don’t know what you want to do, because I highly suggest you get that looked at urgently, if you ever want full use of that hand again.” His eyes flickered from grimy tile to grimy tile as he nodded, his mind teetering on the fence of a mental breakdown. He wondered if he could tell the nurse to shut up, shut up, _shut up shutupshutupshutup and let me wallow_. “The day ends within an hour, can you manage until then?”

 

Dowoon nodded mutely, laying down in the bed as the bell rung overhead. It was then when the overexcited upperclassman (The Puppy Boy, he called him internally) popped his head into the office, smiling sheepishly both at the nurse and Dowoon.

 

“Hey Ms. Choi, if it’s okay, I have a study last period so I can drive him home or to the doctor’s or whatever,” he said with an embarrassed smile, a flush traveling up his neck. The nurse shrugged.

 

“Clear it with the front desk and Dowoon and I’m willing to release him under medical reasons.” Puppy Boy smiled and nodded, running out the door and across the hall. Dowoon knew that it would clear with the front desk, so he spent the last few minutes he had with his own thoughts, trying to bury the worst ones with various degrees of success.

 

The boy came back smiling. (Dowoon wondered if the nameless boy ever frowned.)

 

“The front said it was okay! Dowoon, do you want a ride?” He bit the inside of his cheek, letting out a non committal hum as he sat up, hissing at the pain from his hand. The boy was instantly next to him, helping to ease him up, grabbing his backpack off the ground and smiling at him again. Dowoon nodded at the nurse, her look of pity not once fading, and he followed the elder out the door.

 

“Um, I’m Wonpil, if you didn’t know. I’m a senior.” Dowoon nodded.

 

“Nice to meet you,” he mumbled, for the sake of being polite, ignoring how Wonpil widened his eyes.

 

“I, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak before.” Though he remained silent once more, he felt the tips of his ears growing red. “So,” Wonpil finally started, breaking the painful silence, “your house or urgent care?”

 

>>>

 

Dowoon had to have the cast on for about three weeks, the doctor said. He didn’t say much to respond to that, just surrendering the injured hand when he was told to and receiving it back covered in black plaster. (It’s harder to sign a black cast. You have to have a metallic Sharpie on hand, which requires thought and coordination, unlike most other colors. Made him a little more unapproachable. Plus, the black reflected his mood, both internal and external.) Walking out of the office, his eyes widened upon sight of Wonpil sitting, fidgeting in his chair. He walked over to the senior, the elder sitting there in a trance like state as he stared at his black phone screen.

 

“I figured you would have gone home.” Wonpil startled, clutching his heart and staring at Dowoon with wide eyes.

 

“And left you here to get home on your own?” Dowoon shrugged, crossing his arms. (He rested his cast in the crook of his right elbow. Made it easier for his left arm to manage and deal. No longer did it have to carry the extra pounds and the burden of broken bones alone. Plus, he felt better, safer and more secure, with his arms around himself.)

 

“Everyone else does. My own parents didn’t answer the damn phone when school called them. I’ve only got myself.” Wonpil’s eyes softened as he smiled sadly.

 

“Well, now you have me.”

 

>>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo so you survived part one! so this fic is pre written so i Can't abandon it mid story line. this was started exactly 11 months ago and i still have plans for my characters (my babies) in the future. i will say that the ending is a little open but much happier than the overall vibe of the fic but i do wanna tell you what happens to my babies fjdskajf  
> \-- so it probably will be part of a series but i aint declaring that yet  
> also the title is from amber's cover of one more light!  
> thank you to my favs for putting up with my rants about my Emo Day6 fic and thank you for always answering my questions & i love you fools


	2. desolate existences are like ghost towns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dowoon is tired of existence.   
> apparently so is the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the triggers do really come into play this time around pls pls pls stay safe okay

Dowoon didn’t like existing. What was it, what did it even mean? But then again, he didn’t even care enough to find out. Without his drumbox to distract him from the everburning Hell that was his house, Dowoon didn’t know why he even bothered at this point. 

 

Was he in pain? He wasn’t sure anymore. On one hand he wasn’t exactly  _ hurting _ , but he knew how often he buried his feelings, and he knew how numb he had become. But Dowoon didn’t care. He was worn and ragged, standing on his last shaky leg. (the next breeze would blow him over the next breeze would blow him over  _ the next breeze- _ )

 

His phone vibrated. He glared at it, carefully picking up the offending device with his good hand, a new chat flashing on his screen. He sighed, but still clicked the notification, something about  **kwp9448** being oddly familiar to him.

 

**New Chat**

 

**kwp9448** : Hey, this is Dowoon, right?

 

**yrd.ydw** :  …

**yrd.ydw:** yes

 

**kwp9448** : This is Kim Wonpil ^~^

 

**yrd.ydw** : hi..?

 

**kwp9448** : How’s your hand? I’m super sorry!!! Is there anything I can do for you to make it up to you???

_ read 22:29 _

 

Dowoon just wanted to sleep forever. He wanted the elder to stop bothering him now, rather than in two days. He didn’t need to get attached, and Wonpil seemed nice enough - he didn’t think he could tell him to just leave him alone.

 

It was times like these he wished he had his blades at the ready.

 

He snapped out of his brooding thoughts, remembering he left Wonpil on read.

 

**yrd.ydw** : it’s okay. i’ll manage.

 

He turned off his screen and tossed away his phone, wondering whether or not he knew where he had last stashed his blades, thoughts of Wonpil long forgotten.

 

**kwp9448** : Ahh I’m sure you will, you’re super strong.

**kwp9448** : But I hope your feeling better, you deserve the brightest days and the clearest nights Dowoonie~~ :3

_ delivered  _

 

>>>

 

It turns out, the cast was a perfect hiding spot for one of his lovely blades. After he had managed to locate his precious collection, he found a way to slit the gauze, creating a tiny pocket for his only form of relief. Although this meant he almost always had blades on him and therefore increased the amount of cuts on his thighs, it made it so that no one could find them. Not his mother when she decided his room was “too messy” and started to clean it herself, but also not anyone glancing into his pencil case or various other parts of his backpack. It’s the best hiding place he’s ever found - Hell with the inconvenience and increased self-inflictions, he might have to break a wrist again.

 

Except, Dowoon hadn’t been expecting to be shaken and dragged and almost forced into such a lively lifestyle. Blame Kim Wonpil. He does. He knows everyone else does too. (That’s a lie. He thinks his father might, probably his mother too. Except, maybe they blamed- Ah, he didn't know. Anyway, no one else would dare blame the elder. After all, it was Dowoon’s fault. It’s was always Dowoon’s fault.)

 

It had somehow gotten loose in its spot. As Wonpil dragged him along (they both shared a study and the elder had offered to drive him home), he still spoke with his hands even though it was gripping Dowoon’s scuffed cast, therefore shaking the apandage rather roughly. Dowoon only noticed the metal glint when it was too late, the blade fully exposed and about to-

 

There was the gash. Wonpil jerked his arm, forcing the sharp edge of the chilling blade against the tender skin of his forearm as he frowned, watching the blood begin to seep through the almost burning wound.

 

“OhmygodDowoon!” The younger only blinked, looking at Wonpil with an empty expression before he shoved the misbehaving blade back into its small space.

 

“Whoops,” he uselessly supplied,  _ disgusting oaf  _ and  _ moron _ jabbing at his thoughts like well aimed arrows. Wonpil just stared at him with eyes wide and horror in his expression, before he suddenly blinked into action. He held his shirtsleeve against the offending injury, putting pressure on it while still dragging the younger out to the car as if to avoid confrontation from anyone in the building. 

 

“Dowoon,” Wonpil began softly as he reached the car, pulling out a mini first aid kit from his glove box, and glancing at the younger with eyes more tender than he had ever seen. 

 

“Let's not,” he murmured lowly, watching as Wonpil pressed a piece of gauze against his bloodied forearm, grabbing med tape and securing the piece into place. The brunet looked up, his eyes sad and. . . and full. Full of something Dowoon didn’t want to name. 

 

“We should.” Dowoon barely held in a scoff. He  _ should _ be loved by his parents. He  _ should _ love himself. He  _ should  _ have other coping mechanisms. He  _ should _ have friends. Should was a strange word. Instead he shrugged. 

 

“You can't base life on ‘should’s Wonpil.” The older just blinked at him. Dowoon slipped his wrist out of the elder’s grasp, hiking his bag up onto his back and turning on his heel, setting off in the opposite direction of Kim Wonpil.

 

The older was too stunned to move. When he finally realized what happened, Dowoon was long out of sight, but still pressing heavily in his mind. 

 

>>>

 

He ended up at a park. He didn't know what park it was, at least not immediately, but it was a park nonetheless. He dropped his bag, the mulch crunching underneath the weight of his textbooks, and sat on a swing, his toes pushing him so that he gently rocked in the breeze.

 

“Shouldn't you be in school?” A voice said from behind him, which would normally make anyone startle. But Dowoon simply shrugged, not even bothering a glance at the person behind him. If they killed him, it was one less thing to worry about. 

 

“Shouldn’t world hunger not exist? I mean, look at the surplus in places like America and look at the amount of hungry they have. Should’s a funny word.” The voice behind him scoffed, moving into his peripheral as they took a seat on the swing next to him. 

 

“Trust me, I know. Came from LA before I ended up here.” A pause. “It’s a long story, don’t ask.”

 

“Then don’t ask about mine,” Dowoon shot back, finally turning to look at the grinning (and  _ handsome _ he was  _ gorgeous  _ and  _ devastatingly attractive  _ and _ absolutely stunning _ and  _ literally a piece of art _ \- Dowoon knew he was  _ Fucked _ ) stranger. 

 

“Deal.” His soft, almost baby pink hair fell into his eyes behind his round wire framed glasses. His oversized sweater gave him cute little paws and although Dowoon could feel that the other boy towered over him (he didn’t know how, maybe because no one that attractive could be anything short of 180 cm), he couldn’t help but perceive the other as  _ soft _ . 

 

Dowoon forced his eyes away before he did anything stupid, his right hand fidgeting with his hoodie as his casted left hand remained idly throbbing against his thigh. He figured he should check the cut he had just gotten, but his (drop dead gorgeous) company made it almost impossible to do so discreetly, so he sat silently as the breeze danced through his hair. 

 

“You okay kid?” The stranger asked ( _ Softie, _ his brain hissed,  _ call him Softie _ ). Dowoon kept staring at the faded monkey bars as he shrugged with his good side. 

 

“Do you actually wanna know?” Softie remained quiet, and Dowoon held in a sigh. Part of him was relieved, happy that Softie would stop pressing, part of him was even going as far as celebrating. Yet there was the part of him that was disappointed, the part that knew sharing was the only way to lighten the burden crushing him. He was no Atlas, yet he was tasked with holding the weight of the sky, and Dowoon was seconds away from  _ crumbling _ . 

 

Dowoon hadn’t noticed when he began struggling for breath, an oncoming wave of panic about to crest over him, when Softie gently laid his hand on top of the black haired boy’s uninjured one. 

 

“Hey, kid, you gotta breathe. C’mon, breathe with me, alright?” Dowoon’s eyes flickered up to meet the other’s, the boy’s look gentle and kind and even understanding. Dowoon didn't know why he was looking at him like that, didn't really  _ want _ to know, but he listened to Softie nonetheless. The panic subsided before it could do any damage, his thoughts settling as much as they usually did when he was in a dark place ( _ which was always _ his mind uselessly badgered). It was then he noticed the warm yet almost searing touch still on his hand, Softie  _ still _ gently holding him and rubbing circles onto his palm to try and make him calm down. He almost wanted to cry. 

 

Dowoon wanted to speak, wanted to ask Softie his name and what he was doing in a park during the middle of the day, when a voice rang through the area.

 

“Park Jaehyung,” it began, before continuing off in English. Dowoon assumed the other asked something sarcastically due to the tone, yet he couldn’t be sure.  _ When can you ever be _ , his brain hissed once more and Dowoon softly sighed, leaning against the chain of his swing and closing his eyes. 

 

“What's your name kid?” The new voice asked and Dowoon shrugged lightly, his feet rocking him slightly. 

 

“Why does it even matter?” The new voice laughed. 

 

“You’re right. Except, maybe if you end up in a missing persons report seeing as you’re ditching school, I can call and tell them I saw your ass at this park.” Dowoon shrugged again. 

 

“I have permission not to be there. Note from ‘home’ and a senior that usually drives me. Not like anyone will report me missing if I don’t go back. No one cares for the quiet kid. Not even my own parents,” he said with a shrug, using his toe to sway his swing slightly. It was never good for him to be still for a long period of time, it gave the pressing thoughts more time to catch up to him.

 

“Aw, kid, don’t say that,” Softie - it felt wrong to call him anything other than Softie - said carefully, patting Dowoon’s hand to call the younger’s attention back to him. “I was pretty quiet during school cuz of, well, loads of things but look, I still got Brian-”

 

“Younghyun,” the other immediately cut off, but Softie ignored him. 

 

“-as one of my bestest friends ever. Someone’s  _ bound  _ to care.” Dowoon shrugged once more, finally opening his eyes and surveying the ghostly empty park. 

 

“I left the only one who cared behind. There’s nothing more to do.” His voice was hollow, empty, and somber, years beyond its time, easily carried by the wind far beyond his desolate world. When he glanced at his company, he noticed the concern and sliver of panic held in their eyes. He looked away. He didn’t want to watch the moment that their eyes changed to nonchalance, no longer caring if he lived or died just like everyone else Dowoon encountered on the daily.

 

“I don’t mean to sound rude-” the one with plum hair began, Softie immediately turning on him.

 

“ _ Brian _ ,” he hissed, but ‘Brian’ (or was it Younghyun? Dowoon wasn’t sure, but he never was sure about anything anymore. Other than the fact he was an abomination and deserved what was coming. Or that he didn’t deserve anyone’s love or tender glances. Or that he barely deserved the air that filled his lungs. The voices wanted to keep going on but Younghyun’s persistent voice pulled him back to the present.)

 

“ _ I don’t mean to sound rude, _ I really don’t kid, but what do you mean ‘There’s nothing more to do’? Surely there’s gotta be something.” Younghyun’s voice seemed slightly desperate, and Dowoon felt his eyebrow furrow as he looked at him.

 

“I don’t mean to sound rude,” Dowoon echoed, “but what do you care?” The other made a face, Softie burying his face into his hands.

 

“Brian cares because I was you,” Softie spit out from behind his hands, the other boy not even reprimanding him as he had before. “Knowing him he’s probably flashing back to the good ol’ days.” Dowoon sighed, turning back to the desolate park and avoiding any pressing glances his way.

 

“History is fond of repeating itself. We as a society don’t enjoy learning, but we do enjoy reliving.” Softie shook his head, sniffling as he wiped his eyes not so discreetly. Dowoon shut his own in order to block out the sight.

 

“Look kid, the world may seem dismal and desolate and completely full of shit but while you’re still alive you  _ can’t give up _ . I  _ know _ how it feels to be there and like you’ll never escape it but you  _ will _ , and one day you’ll look back and see that you’re so  _ fucking glad you didn’t go through with it _ .”

 

“Jae-” Brian/Younghyun/Whatever The Fuck his name was started, but Softie - or  _ Jae  _ Dowoon figured, seemingly it somehow fit more than Jaehyung but he wasn’t sure how - shook his head.

 

“It doesn’t matter whatever it is, or how small you think it is, but find your reason to survive, okay?” Dowoon finally turned, his now opened eyes catching on Jae’s watery ones. He shrugged, his eyes flickering up to Whomst The Fuck before meeting Jae’s shattered expression once more.

 

“I’ll try.” Jae forced a watery smile.

 

“That’s all anyone can do.”

 

>>>

 

They gave him a ride back. Younghyun (only Brian to Jae and Dowoon felt his heart flinch) (the voices made fun of his heart for the twinge, saying that the  _ fucker never learned how to keep itself safe _ and even continuing on, but Dowoon ignored them) had a car and they easily dropped him off, reminding him that he was nowhere near ready to be playing with the big leagues yet. 

 

That didn’t mean he could get Jae out of his mind that night as he ignored Wonpil and went to bed.

 

>>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i figured i should post what i got since it's done and i never did officially post an update schedule - should be at least once a week i still gotta slice my chaps from the og doc and edit and shit  
> anyway a thank you again to my friends for putting up with my shenanigans while writing this and thank //You// for spending your time reading this  
> if you drop a comment it'll probably make my day ngl~  
> have a nice day yall, ill catch you on the flip


	3. of neighborhood druggies and mental breakdowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone finally gives dowoon a hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry its been so long  
> anyway hayl bayl for the pain of this one  
> so this one is more panicky and mentions of abuse ig?? also maybe some of that homophobia too. be safe yo

>>>

 

“Dowoon,” a voice called out from behind him, but the boy kept moving. “Dowoon!” A hand grabbed his shoulder, turning him to face Wonpil. “We should talk,” he said simply, eyes full of such an intense emotion that Dowoon already felt himself sagging from exhaustion. 

 

“Should’s a dumbass word,” Dowoon muttered, still following Wonpil into the empty senior lounge as the elder shut the door. 

 

“Wait, Wonpil, I can’t be in here. Your grade gets all territorial and shit whenever a junior approaches, and like, I don’t need that on my plate too.” Wonpil just rolled his eyes, blocking Dowoon’s exit and ignoring the younger’s frantic pleas. 

 

“Just shut up, you’re not getting out of this.” Dowoon just sighed, his head bowed as he was ready for whatever Wonpil dished at him. He waited for the yells, the insults to be hurled at him, Wonpil to tell him to just hurry up already and  _ stop breathing _ when a pair of arms carefully wrap around him.

  
  


Wonpil was…

Hugging him.

  
  


What hurt the most was that Dowoon wasn’t sure the last time he was held so gently. 

 

He couldn’t stop the tears that slipped from his eyes at the realization.

 

Wonpil only held him tighter.

 

“Dowoon,” he whispered, not letting go, “are you okay?” Dowoon nodded, tears streaming from his eyes as desperately held onto Wonpil’s shirt, trying to hold onto any peace he had, trying to hold together all the pieces of himself. What felt like years later he finally pulled away, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

 

“I’m fine,” he choked out, only continuing when he saw the look in Wonpil’s eyes. “It’s just, God, you’re gonna find this  _ so fucking stupid _ ,” he laughed harshly, shaking his head, “but I can’t tell you the last time anyone’s bothered to hug me.” Dowoon didn’t even have time to look at the other before he was pulled into another embrace, his left elbow hooked over Wonpil’s shoulder so that he didn’t have to hold the weight of his injury anymore. At least not alone. He had someone else helping him out, at least for the time being (until he got  _ sick of everything you have to offer _ a voice spit but Dowoon ignored it). Dowoon laughed breathlessly through his tears, ignoring the telltale wet spot growing on his shoulder signifying that Wonpil had began to cry as well.

 

“Are you okay Wonpil?” The elder shook his head, pulling away enough so that he could look at the younger. 

 

“I think I’m finally starting to understand who you are.” Dowoon raised an eyebrow at the shorter male.

 

“And?”

 

“And I am so sorry, Yoon Dowoon, that I can’t do more.” Dowoon shrugged, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand and shrugging. 

 

“Hey, at least you’re putting in an attempt. Not even my parents can say that.” Wonpil made a face and Dowoon shrugged him off, eyes flickering throughout the room.

 

“It’s okay, it’s not like you cursed my family to not love me as they should or whatever those family specialists say. I just, I just sometimes find myself wishing it were different. Maybe I wouldn’t be so damn sad if my parents weren’t so shitty at being decent human beings.” Wonpil swiped at his cheeks, a fresh round of tears escaping him at Dowoon’s words before he could stop them. It was a few minutes later when Wonpil looked back up, his eyes searching Dowon’s.

 

“Can I see?” He asked hesitantly, his fingers ghosting near the edge of Dowoon’s cast. The younger shrugged as he complied, handing over the injured arm to Wonpil’s capable hands. As Wonpil carefully removed the bloody bandage, he couldn’t keep himself from asking, “So, what are you planning on going to school next year for?”

 

Wonpil smiled carefully, checking out the cut before looking back at Dowoon.

 

“Well, I was thinking something along the lines of a pediatric psychiatrist. I might do stuff with teenagers, but I don’t know if I could handle adults.” 

 

Dowoon felt the searing pain in his chest before he understood it. He could feel a lump growing in his throat that he forced back, his stomach thrashing inside him. The voices in his head began whispering, but it wasn’t long before they started screaming at him. It’s like his insides were being torn apart, and he  _ needed a way out _ , but he forced himself there, because fuck it he  _ deserved  _ to know.

 

“Am I just a case study to you?” He whispered, his voice hollow. Wonpil’s eyes were wide, his body frozen before he rebooted himself.

 

“No no  _ no nonono  _ Dowoon please don’t think I ever once considered you anything less than-”

 

“Less than what?” Dowoon said, his voice one that would unknowingly haunt Wonpil for years on end. “The fucked up kid with the fucked up family and fucked up head and no friends? ‘Cuz that’s how everyone else in this motherfucking school sees me. I shouldn’t even be surprised that you’re the same. A _ nd there’s that fucking word again! _ ” Angry tears spilt over his lashes and Dowoon shook his head as Wonpil tried to approach him.    
  


“Just, just let me leave. I’m fine on my own, I don’t need you to  _ shrink me _ Wonpil. I just needed a friend,” he whispered, ignoring the crack in his voice. He forced his way out, slipping out of the building and tracing the familiar root to the park, but first stopping by his house and dumping his backpack. 

 

Walking helped him clear his mind, and walking with drum heavy music in his ears helped his lungs finally feel as though they were taking in air, the voices no louder than the beats pounded in his eardrums. No longer did he feel like he had to ask his heart if it was still beating or his lungs if they were still breathing as he walked towards the park, his eyes focussed on the path in front of him. It’s only when he got there that he saw the two familiar figures loitering near the swings. He paused his music as he approached them, internally preparing himself for a conversation.

 

“Do the neighborhood mothers think that you’re drug addicts?” The boys startled as they looked at Dowoon, their eyes widening in an instant. Dowoon figured it was because he looked like such a wreck, tear stains on his cheeks and eyes still puffy but he pretended to have no idea what caused them concern. 

 

“Hey,” Jae said softly, slowly approaching Dowoon as though he were a wounded animal. “What happened?” Dowoon shrugged, kicking the wood chips beneath him and only looking up when Younghyun’s shoes finally entered his vision.

 

“Nothing, leave me alone. I just, I just need to think somewhere that won’t suffocate me. I’ll leave if you want, it’s fine.” Both boys instantly shushed him, trying to placate him. Jae’s gentle hands were on his arms as he led the boy towards the swing set. Jae crouched in front of him, his expression soft as he did his best to grab Dowoon’s hands (at least to the best of his abilities, his left hand was still a useless lump of gauze and blackened plaster). 

 

“You never told me how you ended up in a cast,” Jae said with a small smile, his eyes gentle. Dowoon shrugged, his eyes fleeting away, noticing Younghyun’s soft expression that was aimed towards Jae. Dowoon didn’t want to figure out what it meant, even though he had a feeling he knew what it meant ( _ it’s an expression that’s been missing from your entire life you imbecile _ a voice shot at him and Dowoon just took it, like he did almost anything).

 

“Ran into someone in the halls,” he muttered, feeling as though he were shattering a moment. “Broke my knuckles bad enough they wanted to cast them. Only for three weeks though, it’ll be over soon enough like everything else. I actually only have about a week or so left.” Jae’s brows were furrowed as he looked back up once more, his eyes full of something close to pity. Jae’s breathing caught as his eyes began to linger on Dowoon’s upper forearm, the younger closing his eyes as Jae’s calloused fingers danced near his cut. 

 

“What’s this?” Jae choked out, Dowoon resting his head against the swing’s chain. 

 

“Jus’a cut.” He could feel both boys burning gazes on him but he didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m fine. No need to worry.” The two shared a look that Dowoon blatantly ignored, eyes staring blankly at the landscape. 

 

“Why’re you here today?” Younghyun asked, and Dowoon shook his head. He had left school to avoid this, he hated the fact that one of his few safe havens was being stripped away from underneath him. Sure, he knew that the two boys cared or some bullshit and that’s why they were interfering, but all his broken ass brain could see it as was meddling that made him want to scream, the voices only raising in volume when they were around.

 

“Why do you care?” The two boys sighed, and Dowoon rocked himself peacefully, turning his music back up, not waiting for an answer. He hoped they weren’t trying to talk to him, that one empathetic part of him that had somehow survived over the years quietly speaking up. The same part that hoped Wonpil wasn’t that worried for him as he turned his phone on  _ Do Not Disturb _ , the rest of his thoughts easily overpowering the tiny corner. He liked that corner, when he could hear it, it often reminded him he was human. His eyes stayed shut as he felt a slight tug on the cord of his headphones, the music that was so peacefully filling his ears jarringly ending. He cracked open an eye in annoyance, finding Jae crouching in front of him once more, a sheepish smile allighting his features as he pulled his hand away from the pause button on Dowoon’s headphones. He went to question the older boys when his phone began ringing. 

 

Dowoon felt himself blanch, knowing that only his family could reach him through his  _ Do Not Disturb _ , and if they were trying to call him, it  _ wasn’t good _ . He could feel himself trembling as he pulled out the phone and accepted the call, ignoring Jae and Younghyun’s concerned stares. 

 

“Hello?” He said quietly, trying to keep the fear that was suffocating him, filling his every orifice until his weighted body began to sink.

 

“Yoon Dowoon,” his mother’s voice began, as soft as silk, cutting into him as though it were a poisoned dagger. Having her in his ear was worse than anything he could imagine, almost as if she were  _ inside him _ . But the alternative was worse, taking the call off of his headphones meant Jae could definitely hear every word the woman spit, having only moved closer due to Dowoon being visibly under duress. He didn’t need the boys, for certainly (he admitted even though it sent another pang through his heart) everything Jae knew he told Younghyun, knowing more than they already did. The thought alone sent a new flood of fear into his system and making his hands shake worse. “I received a call from school.” Dowoon barely managed to swallow the lump in his throat.

 

“They said you went missing off the property, visibly upset according  to some teachers. Care to explain?” Dowoon knew it was a trap, knew that whatever answer he gave her would result in a ferocious beating once he got home. He didn’t know where to begin. 

 

“Mother, I-” he ignored the hushed but sharp gasp from one of the boys as his mother clicked her tongue, tears already building in his eyes.

 

“Oh Dowoonie, you are in a  _ lot _ of trouble when I get home.” He muffled a whimper at the nickname, tears finally falling from his eyes, heart trying to burst from his chest. He listened as his mother hung up, fear and anxiety only pressing into him more and more as time wore on. He wasn’t sure when his mother was leaving the office, and he felt the last of the blood leave his face as he realized that she could be leaving immediately. 

 

If she beat him home, he was dead.

 

He threw himself into a standing position, eyes whipping around his surroundings as the panic flooded his system. Jae had his shoulders in an instant, slipping a piece of paper in the edge of Dowoon’s cast while looking at the boy in pity.

 

“Breathe kid, then do what you have to. Text us after everything settles.” Dowoon nodded numbly before taking off in a sprint towards his house. Jae turned to Younghyun with a helpless expression, falling into the younger boy’s arms and choking on his sobs. 

 

>>>

 

Dowoon beat his mother home. He wasn’t sure how long she would take, and knew she would not take kindly to him being hidden somewhere in the house, so after scrubbing everything until it was sparkling, he sat at the table, trembling. 

 

It was then he remembered the paper shoved in his cast and he quickly pulled it out, entering the two numbers into his contacts hurriedly before rushing down the hall to his room. He hid the paper fairly easily in his school bag before staring at his phone, deciding to send his sister a quick message. 

 

**baby dowoonie**

if anything happens, know that mother’s furious with me. i love you, and i’m glad you got out. stay safe.

 

He stuffed the phone under the pillows then, hiding it out of view before scrambling down the hallway, resuming his previous position trembling at the table. 

 

He prayed to whatever was out there that his mother wouldn’t ever make it home.

 

As heard the lock unlatch, he prayed to whatever that it would be quick. 

 

Nothing ever bothered to answer his prayers.  

 

>>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is why i cannot post an *unwritten* piece if it takes me this long to update this  
> life has just been hectic these few weeks with midterms and personal life and shit but like anyway thats all i hope you enjoyed have a nice day!   
> catch you on the flip yo


	4. ringing off the hook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone's worried about dowoon. they just want to make sure he's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi y'all. this is a p short filler that builds up to the next one or two chaps and then we're done.  
> tw in this is just after abuse injuries and some suicidal thoughts.

Dowoon closed his door softly, trying not to further disturb his mother on the other side of the house. He dragged himself to the bed using his half decent arm (after the events of the evening he figured he couldn’t really call it “good” anymore), leaning up against the wooden frame and working on his breathing. He grappled for his phone under the pillow, hissing at the pain flooding his system from that simple task. 

 

He hated the fact he never fought back. 

 

He hated the fact he never could bring himself to do it. 

 

He opened his phone, sending his sister a simple emoji to mean that he was alive. He then swallowed his pride, opening a new chat before closing it almost immediately. He did it a few more times, for his pride was not an easy one to swallow nor did it enjoy staying down, before he could finally stomach keeping the chat open. 

 

**Unknown**

it’s dowoon. you said reach out after everything settled.

i’m somehow still alive. 

 

He heaved a sigh as he waited, the trembling never having fully gone away and now fully coming back with a vengeance. He knew he needed to check his injuries, assess the damage that had been done, but Dowoon was just  _ so tired _ that he could barely breathe. Or was it just tiredness? He knew his abdomen along with his side his head had taken quite a few hits, and that his mind was far away from the rest of him. Maybe, he figured, he was dissociating through a panic attack. That’d be a first, but there was a first for everything, right?

 

He looked down when he realized his phone was vibrating in his hand, not remembering when he took it off Do Not Disturb. He let out the breath he was holding before he accepted the call, his lungs burning. He couldn’t remember if he had been breathing. It felt like he hadn’t taken a breath in years. 

 

“Hello?” He rasped out, eyes burning for some reason he could not explain.

 

“Dowoon,” the voice breathed out in what seemed to be relief, the dusty gears in his head struggling to place it. “I was beginning to worry.” There was rustling on the other side of the line, and what sounded like another person when he finally placed the voice.

 

“Hey Jae,” he whispered, his voice sounding as weak as he felt. 

 

“Kid, are you okay?” Dowoon shrugged before wincing at the action, a small yelp escaping his lips. Bruises and abrasions were one thing, but the feeling in his shoulder made him believe something worse was going on internally this time. With that thought he let out a whimper, tears slipping from his eyes. 

 

“No.” The word felt like it could shatter his entire existence if spoken too loudly, yet Dowoon felt the need to risk it. He heard cursing on the other side of the line, before there was more intense shuffling.

 

“Dowoon sweetie,” Jae said, his tone almost desperate, and Dowoon did everything in his power not to let the words affect him, “If you tell me where you live I can come and help you.” Dowoon’s foggy mind almost spit forth the address before the rational part took over the helm once again before any damage could be done.

 

“N-No, you can’t,” he choked out, forcing his lungs to take in oxygen as the other side of the line fell silent. “Don’t try to come, you’ll make things so much worse.” Before waiting for an answer Dowoon hung up, dropping his phone into his lap and crying silently into his hands. He wished it to be over, the voices in his head letting him know that it could be whenever he wanted it to be.

 

“ _ Please, leave me alone _ ,” he cried softly, the voices continuing to pester him to end it all. He uncovered his eyes when he felt his phone vibrating against his thigh once more.

 

His phone was ringing once more, but the contact shining up at him was one that he hadn’t expected. Swiping at his tears and forcing his lungs to take even breaths, he answered the call to avoid the consequences. 

 

“Hey Wonpil,” he said, sure that his tone conveyed just how exhausted he was, his hiccups somehow silenced behind his hand. 

 

“Oh Dowoon, I was so worried.” The younger boy just hummed, leaning his head back against his bed and feeling himself begin to slip into unconsciousness. He forced himself awake once more, ignoring the pain pulsing behind his eyes. 

 

“Don’t be, I’m okay,” he whispered, fighting his eyelids to stay open. There was a pause on the other side of the line, and Dowoon couldn’t find it in himself to care about what was coming.  

 

“Dowoon, you don’t sound okay.” He had to give it to Wonpil. Even after Dowoon shoved the elder away as forcefully as he could, he refused to leave him. He decided  _ not  _ to unpack the reasoning behind it, leaving it to Wonpil just being a good friend and an even better person. 

 

“Just,”he wheezed as he shifted, flames licking up his side and in his lungs, “just leave it Wonpil. I’m okay.” Wonpil sighed, but Dowoon could tell he was going to drop the subject, even if he’d rather not. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

“I just wanted to say that I wasn’t shrinking you Dowoon. I never was. I just, I never thought of you as anything less than my friend Dowoon. Especially as I began driving you and we began talking, I honestly just saw you as my friend. The only thing I ever really worried about was how your knuckles were.” Dowoon glanced at his cast, some of the plaster by his elbow now cracked and even missing. “I just want you to know that I just wanted to make sure you were okay. If you want me to back off, I’ll, I’ll back off.” Dowoon could hear the pain in the other’s voice, could practically see him pulling his hair and pacing through his room. 

 

“You, I…” Dowoon trailed off, trying desperately to piece together his swarming thoughts when he wanted nothing more to sleep. “Thank you,” he settled for, listening to Wonpil sigh out of what he assumed to be relief. “I overreacted and I’m sorry. I hope we can stay friends.” Wonpil laughed softly, and Dowoon cracked a grin. 

 

“Of course we can stay friends you goon. Now go to sleep, you sound exhausted.” Dowoon nodded, muttering a small “goodnight” before slipping off into a dreamless sleep. 

 

**> >>**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all tHE UMBRELLA ACADEMY IS SO FUCKIN GOOD  
> anyway im sorry this is 1 late and 2 short but its fine the last cut is either one or two chaps and then itll be up and good yEET  
> n e gay thanks for reading this and ill catch you on the flip ((keep your eyes out for an umbrella academy au from me lololol))


	5. as for the virtuous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yoon dowoon is trying his best.  
> but he doesn't have to try all by himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh sorry i kinda forgot this existed? i also kinda phased outta the kpop scene for a solid like month and bOi was reentry a bitch to try and figure out tf was happening the semester went by so fuckin fast ffs  
> anyway this is the last from dowoonie (at least for now) so enjoy!

Dowoon didn’t move off of the floor the next morning. His alarm blared through the still air, yet any slight movement brought a new wave of pain to his injuries. He waited until he heard the front door opening, signifying that his mother had left, his father usually leaving before he gets up and getting home just as late if (he even bothered to return home) (Dowoon expected an affair), when he grabbed his phone. Surprised to see it still had a decent amount of power left in it, he called his school, informing them that he had a “fever” and would be out. He sighed in relief once he had hung up, knowing that they wouldn’t bother calling his mother and that he’d be safe for the day. He watched as the small slivers of sunlight that slipped passed his curtains grew in intensity, the day having well begun. 

 

He knew he should get up, but the ground was where he found his comfort, and where he could rest. Moving took too much out of him, to the point that even the slightest shift made him burn with pain. He sighed, settling into a day of hunger and maybe fitless naps when his ringtone shattered the stillness of his house. He felt himself pale upon noticing the ringing from his phone as he squeezed his eyes shut, sure his mother somehow found out he was home, his trembling hands barely managing to blindly accept the call. 

 

“Hello?” He asked hesitantly, prepared for the worst. 

 

“So,” Dowoon breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of a male’s voice. “Would you, like, kill me if I said I were outside your house?” Dowoon sighed, shaking his head.  _ Wonpil _ , of course. He couldn’t tell if he was more endeared or annoyed by the older’s antics. 

 

“No, but unless the front door is unlocked you might have to climb through a window,” he gritted out as  he tried to move, attempting to at least get onto the bed but even that proved to be a challenge. He hoisted himself into bed, leaning heavily against the frame he had used to get there. He bit his lip to keep the cries of pain back, whimpers still escaping him and tears welling in his eyes at the basic movement. He heard shuffling, a car door closing both outside and over the line as well as movement. He heard Wonpil trying the door, careful footsteps entering the house. “You mind locking that?” Wonpil just hummed over the line, the sound of the lock clicking into position echoing through the almost empty house. 

 

“So where’s your room?” Wonpil asked with a laugh, Dowoon giving him easy instructions and hanging up, preparing himself for when the older boy entered his room. He still hadn’t had a chance to look at his injuries, and knowing that smiley and sweet Wonpil had probably never seen anything so wretched in his life made him want to puke. He barely held himself together as a knock sounded through the room. 

 

“You can come in,” Dowoon said softly, nervously fidgeting as he watched the door open. He looked up to meet Wonpil’s eyes, the older boy forcing a smile in what Dowoon expected was an attempt to hide the concern in his eyes. 

 

“I brought coffee and donuts?” Wonpil said lightly and Dowoon laughed, some sort of relief filing the older’s expression. Dowoon didn’t bother to break it down, instead just patting the bed next to him as an invitation to sit that Wonpil was happy to take. Settling himself softly, he passed Dowoon the bag and handed him a coffee, a soft expression staring at the younger. “I, um, remembered your order from our coffee runs?” Wonpil said sheepishly and Dowoon laughed, his ears burning. 

 

“Thanks,” he said as sincerely as he could manage, carefully eating the donut and drinking the coffee to his stomach’s delight. They sat in relative quiet, Wonpil sipping on his own drink and seemingly lost in his thoughts when Dowoon finally broke the silence.

 

“Sorry you have to see me like this,” he practically muttered, eyes down. Wonpil shook his head, and when Dowoon looked at him his eyes were far away.

 

“I’ve seen far worse.” Dowoon didn’t want to pry, but he was curious what such a pure soul could be up to in his spare time that he had seen worse. Eventually Wonpil’s eyes snapped to him, a look of hesitance on his features. “You haven’t really been able to treat anything, have you?” Dowoon shook his head, trying to look away but unable to will his eyes away from the older’s intense expression in what are usually such soft and gentle eyes. “Do you want help?”

 

To be honest, Dowoon didn’t want anything. He wasn’t sure if that meant he didn’t want existence or just didn’t want to feel the pain of his injuries, but he would prefer to just sit and cease and desist his own life. But instead, that one tiny corner of his mind that he cherished and fought so hard to protect, the one that always looked out for others, finally looked after Dowoon. It was almost as though he were ready to accept its help, whatever that meant. Dowoon sighed, his shoulders sagging as he looked up at Wonpil with a hopeful expression.

 

“Only if you don’t mind.” He swore he never saw Wonpil happier, and Dowoon couldn’t figure out why such a thing would make the boy so elated. He stood gathering the trash and shoving it in the approved trashcan in the corner of the room (his mother would assume that he’d gone out after school, which is exactly what he’d tell her, but then again it is  _ him _ who takes the trash out) before crouching in front of the younger boy.

 

“Think you can make it to the bathroom?” Now that was a real question. The bathroom was only about ten or fifteen feet down the hall, and he was sure that Wonpil would even help carry him to it, but after his mother’s well placed kicks, he wasn’t so sure. 

 

“Um, well, I crawled to here last night,” he said in almost a whisper, Wonpil’s expression barely changing from the one of sincerity he often wore around the younger, “so I really don’t know how bad everything is. It hurts to shift though, and to pull myself onto the bed this morning almost, um, made me cry.” He felt his face burn crimson as his eyes flitted around his room, never once nearing the boy in front of him.

 

“Do you want to try just standing? You can change into something comfier, I’m sure jeans after so long can only be aggravating, and depending on how that goes you can sit right back down on your bed or we can make it to the bathroom. Deal?” Now that Wonpil had mentioned it, the idea of new clothes sounded heavenly, and a shower sounded like an absolute Godsend. 

 

“Um, yeah. I kinda wanna take a shower if I can,” he muttered in embarrassment and Wonpil grinned, extending a hand to the raven haired boy.

 

“Shall we?” Dowoon carefully placed his decent hand in Wonpil’s, his turn to smile sheepishly.

 

“We shall.”

 

>>>

 

Dowoon had managed to shower, but only just barely. He barely had enough energy in him to stand up for long enough to let the water rush over him, but he forced himself to stay up as he actually used soap on his tender skin and smarting scalp. Seeing his injuries up close was unsettling, the various cuts and bruises were practically everywhere. Even though he had been there countless times before, it was almost never this bad, not enough to the point he wanted to throw up what little food he actually had in him. 

 

He pulled himself out of the shower, holding himself up on the counter as he assessed his aching body. He gave himself a moment to just collect himself, before letting out an Earth shattering sigh as he gently yanked on his underwear and baggy sweatpants. He then pulled on a muscle tee, aware that Wonpil was waiting for him to come out to assess his injuries, wincing as he moved his shoulder and even as the shirt settled on some open wounds on his chest. He leaned against the counter again, breathing heavily and trying to regain himself. He practically jumped when soft knock sounded throughout the stuffy room. 

 

“You okay Dowoon?” He sighed, resting his hand over his heart as it thudded widely in his chest. He shimmied his way onto the counter, leaning back against the steamed but freezing mirror, eyes falling shut. 

 

“Yeah. You can come on in.” He heard the door open, surprised slightly when Wonpil didn’t even gasp. The older boy instead immediately took off the trash bag that covered Dowoon’s cast, before he just stood in front of him. Dowoon was sure he looked like a hot mess - hair dripping down his face and neck, going as far as to even wet his collar; his bruises easily standing out in the horrid lighting and even some of the fresh cuts oozing blood. He didn’t even want to know what he looked like. He opened his eyes when he felt Wonpil tap at his uncasted wrist. 

 

“You mind if I start treating everything?” Dowoon just smiled softly. 

 

“Go ahead. Need me to move?” Wonpil shook his head, rummaging for a first aid kit before smiling sheepishly at Dowoon. 

 

“It’s easier to reach your legs and torso while you’re up there actually. Um, with that in mind…” Dowoon raised an eyebrow at the brunet, watching as Wonpil’s eyes skipped around the small space. 

 

“How, um, how…” he trailed off once more, and Dowoon could see the gears turning in his head as he figured out how to word what he wanted to say. “Oh um, what would you be uncomfortable with me seeing?” It was then Dowoon’s turn to look confused, before he finally processed what Wonpil was asking. He could feel his ears heat up, his eyes stuck on the floor. 

 

“As long as I’m not naked, it’s alright, I guess. I don’t know where the worst injuries are,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Wonpil just smiled, offering Dowoon his hand in comfort. Dowoon carefully took the offered gesture, his eyes still holding some apprehension while the rest of his body further collapsed against the mirror. Wonpil laughed softly at his slouched form, and Dowoon was glad that the older boy still could laugh in their awkward and painful situations. It made him feel… nice. 

 

It didn’t take Wonpil nearly as long as Dowoon expected for the brunet to treat his various wounds. Wonpil worked methodically and skillfully, never once wincing or getting sick at the sight of the horrid discoloration left by his very own mother. His earlier thoughts came back to haunt him and Dowoon was left wondering just what Wonpil had been through that he knew exactly what he was doing. He almost didn’t want to know. As soon as Wonpil finished, his concern growing when he saw Dowoon’s ribs and never truly settling, he offered a sad smile to the younger, putting the first aid kit back without being prompted.

 

“You wanna go back to your room?” Dowoon nodded softly, feeling as though something were bound to happen but unable to figure out what. He let Wonpil help him back down the hallway, the small part of his brain that he cherished still at the helm as Wonpil carefully deposited the younger onto his bed. Wonpil sat at Dowoon’s desk, eyes down as he began to speak.

 

“You know you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.” Dowoon raised an eyebrow, but let the older continue uninterrupted. “My cousin has an apartment, if you need somewhere to go he’d take you in easily. I’ve already told him about you, so honestly he wouldn’t be surprised if you showed up.” Dowoon cocked his head in confusion.

 

“I, I get why you’re offering but I don’t.” Wonpil shrugged.

 

“I, um, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it, but I don’t live with my parents or my aunts and uncles or anything. I live with my cousin, actually.” Dowoon watched as Wonpil curled into himself more, like the admission took more out of him than he wished it would. “My friends think it’s cuz I’ll be closer to school and stuff, well, all of them except Jackson, I guess. I called him one night when I couldn’t walk after my dad got plastered, and he carried me out. I went back a few times to grab all of my things, and I haven’t seen my parents in a few years now. Sungjin won’t let me.” Dowoon just stared at Wonpil. Oh.  _ Oh _ . No wonder he noticed the signs. No wonder he came by when Dowoon didn’t show up the day after he leaves school early. No wonder he didn’t even flinch when checking Dowoon over. He had probably checked himself countless times before. No wonder he had been so patient. He had been where Dowoon was now.

 

“I, I don’t know what to say,” Dowoon admitted, his decent hand fiddling with his shirt tail once more. Wonpil looked at him with a teary smile.

 

“You don’t have to say anything. Just know that if you ever need somewhere to go, you can call me.” Dowoon returned the smile.

 

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like the ending isnt a real ending but its open ig so it has potential of getting a sequel but also not cuz adddddd  
> anyway have a nice day/night and i hope you enjoyed this! lmk if you want to hear more from dowoonie cuz there can at least be some oneshots here and there yah feel  
> anyway catch you later gbyeeee


End file.
